


Am I Blue?

by MaskoftheRay



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Am I Blue— you all know what THAT'S from, Bruce Feels, Bruce Needs a Hug, Bruce and Clark are best friends, Bruce has had a shitty month, Bruce is human okay? He gets frustrated and upset and sad too, Clark recognizes this and tries to help, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, comforting a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 11:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17549147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: "It started out with a bad day. But it wasn’t a bad day. Not really. Just not as productive as he would have liked. Just little things that had gone wrong. Like this morning, he’d spilled his coffee, and Dick had been angry at him. The board meeting hadn’t accomplished much, so Bruce had essentially driven into the office for nothing."Or, Bruce has a bad-day streak, like everyone does sometimes. Clark is a good friend, and tries to help him get out of it.





	Am I Blue?

**Author's Note:**

> "Am I blue?  
> Am I blue?  
> Ain't these tears in my eyes telling you?  
> You'd be too,  
> If each plan that you had done fell  
> through"  
> — _Am I Blue?_ , Grant Clarke and Harry Akst
> 
> -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_ 
> 
> You all know where the title is from! But, here's the info anyway. Series is _Justice League Unlimited_ , episode is "This Little Piggy." I quote the version of _Am I Blue?_ that Kevin Conroy sings. I have links to Youtube videos of THE scene below, if you're interested.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, DC Comics does.

It started out with a bad day. But it wasn’t a bad day. Not really. Just not as productive as he would have liked. Just little things that had gone wrong. Like this morning, he’d spilled his coffee, and Dick had been angry at him. The board meeting hadn’t accomplished much, so Bruce had essentially driven into the office for nothing. Tim and Damian were fighting again. The sandwich shop he’d gone to for lunch had mixed up his order with someone else’s and he’d only realized it after he was half-way back to the office. Bruce had stubbed his toe after tripping over a pair of Jason’s shoes. The weather predicted heavy rain for the next three nights. Cassandra was going out of town for a week. Stephanie was failing O-Chem. 

It rained the whole time Bruce was on patrol and his boots tracked mud all over the cave floor afterwards. Alfred scolded him for that. 

There were three murders in Gotham. 

A deal between W.E. and a smaller firm they were acquiring fell through at the last minute. 

Tim sprained his ankle sparring with Damian. Dick and Bruce had another spat (about why Tim and Damian had been allowed to spar together). Alfred was mad at Bruce for being mad at Dick, and he was mad at Dick for yelling at Bruce. Tim and Damian weren’t speaking. Bruce had had to redo the patrol schedule for the next month due to Tim’s ankle. Cassandra’s trip got extended. Steph was still failing O-Chem. 

His secretary, the one who was nice to him, and meant it when she said, “Good morning, Mr. Wayne” wanted to move to Metropolis. 

Next week, he had monitor duty with Wally. 

Jason got shot. 

Dick and Barbra were fighting. 

Damian (who had a cold) snuck out and went on patrol even though Bruce had ordered him not to. 

Someone had been watching porn on the Watchtower and now he had to go through _all_ the league’s servers. 

Lex Luthor was offering a competing bid against W.E. and it looked like the bald businessman had a chance of getting the contract. 

It rained some more in Gotham. Bruce came home looking like he’d gone for a swim in Gotham Bay. 

Gordon thought the murders might be connected— possibly a new serial killer. 

Bruce had to go to his father’s ex-colleague’s retirement party and hear the whispers: _“not good enough” “wasted potential” “nothing like Thomas.”_

**…**

Bruce frowned as he stared at the monitor screen. It was 8:15 p.m., and Flash was five minutes late. The tower was muffled— as space tended to be— except for the quiet whirring, buzzing, humming of the various machines and computers that kept the Justice League (and the Watchtower) active. Bruce sighed, and looked mournfully at his empty coffee cup. He yawned. _If Wally didn’t fucking show up in the next minute, he was pulling him from the active-duty roster._ And now Bruce had to pee. He stood to stretch a little, and winced as his knee popped. 

Bruce had been chasing after a would-be burglar last night and had landed funny on one of the roofs. He hadn’t caught the guy, and instead had limped back to the car, muttering profanities all the way. Leslie had said that he’d been lucky nothing had torn, or worse. She’d put Bruce on light-duty only and instructed him to ice his knee and keep it wrapped. While it didn’t hurt too badly, it throbbed unpleasantly, and twinged whenever he jarred it too much (which was basically whenever he was walking). Alfred had tried to get him to take pain killers, but all of them made Bruce sleepy, and he couldn’t have that, since, apparently, he was doing fucking monitor duty alone. _Where the hell was Wally?_

Worse, he could feel a headache coming on. Probably from too much coffee, and not enough water or food. Bruce sighed and removed the cowl, as nobody else was around (or apparently, going to show up like they were supposed to.) Bruce growled, and sharply diverted his attention back to the screen when an alert popped up. But he relaxed a little when Wonder Woman answered it. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. 

A greeting of, “Hey Bruce!” interrupted his thoughts. Bruce glared up at the intruder. 

“Flash,” he growled, “you’re _fifteen_ minutes late.” 

“Yeah,” Wally said, making a vague wavy gesture with his hands, “I was busy— there was this old lady I was helping, and then this little girl with a lost puppy, and I guess I—” 

“I don’t care if you’re late because you’re helping people. I care if _you don’t tell me if you’re showing up or not_ ,” Bruce growled heatedly. Wally did a little double-take, as if surprised by Bruce’s attitude. This only angered Bruce more. Could he not understand how annoying it was to be left waiting like that? All it took was a simple comm. message. “We have comms. for a reason,” he snarled, “use them.” 

Wally blinked. Opened his mouth. Shut it. Finally took a seat next to Bruce, looking perturbed. “Okay, fine. I’ll remember next time,” he muttered. The room was swallowed by silence again. Bruce barely kept from sighing. Wally was sulking. _This would be a long three hours_ , Bruce thought. He shifted in his seat and his knee zinged, sending a sharp, bright signal of pain through his nerves. Bruce grit his teeth and ignored it. 

**…**

“Goddamnit! Fucking worthless piece of…” Bruce muttered from beneath the batmobile. 

Joker had escaped a few days ago and had lead Batman on a wild car chase through downtown Gotham. Bruce had captured the clown, but only after Joker had managed to wreck the car’s suspension. Apparently, the clown thought it amusing to have Harley throw booby-trapped Jack-in-the-Boxes out the window at the batmobile. Bruce had managed to swerve three out of the five of them, but the final two had been enough to essentially put the car out of commission. Bruce had managed to attach the car’s grapple to the clown’s vehicle, subdue the jester and his harlequin, and limp back to the cave. But now, he was running diagnostics on the car and it looked bad. He shone a light at the stabilizer link and swore again, “Shit.” It was cracked. He added that to the mental list of parts that were either severely damaged or all together unusable. To make things worse, his knee was hurting something fierce, as lying awkwardly on the mechanics creeper didn’t help anything. 

Suddenly he heard Alfred’s sharp footsteps approaching. “Master Bruce,” he said. Bruce glared at his feet. 

“What, Alfred?” he muttered, looking back up at the underside of his car. 

“I believe you have a league meeting soon, sir,” his butler reminded passively. Bruce froze. 

“What time is it?” he asked sharply, already wheeling himself out from under the car. 

“It is eleven forty-five, sir,” Alfred said. _Fuck_ , Bruce thought, limping more hurriedly toward the cave’s teleporter. He’d be late. 

“Ah, Master Bruce, you have—” Alfred called. Bruce disappeared in a flash. “grease on your cheek,” Alfred finished lamely, with a sigh. 

**…**

Bruce materialized aboard the tower and immediately strode (as quickly as he could) to the main conference room. He got several strange looks on the way, but he ignored them. 

Superman paused in his speech about that month’s global crime statistics as the door opened with a soft whoosh and revealed Batman. Bruce strode across the room, limping slightly, Clark noted, and sat at his chair with little more than a thump. Clark blinked at his friend. _He had grease on his face_ , Clark noted absently, not sure whether to feel appalled on behalf of his friend or amused. 

“Er, Batman, you have,” Clark said quietly, gesturing. Bruce frowned, reached up where Clark was indicating and inspected his hand. Clark heard his quiet sigh. 

“Continue,” Bruce instructed firmly, while he discreetly wiped at the remaining grease. 

Clark obliged. “Automobile-related crimes increased by fifteen percent, mostly in mid-sized urban areas...” 

**…**

As the meeting drew to a close, Bruce ground his teeth together and clenched his hands arounds his chair’s arm rests. He felt ready to launch out of his chair and into orbit, with how much tense, restless energy, and impatience he felt. Not only was this meeting taking too long (and becoming very inefficient) but Bruce had other work to do, and he wanted to leave before anyone could comment on his _embarrassing situation_ from earlier. He stifled a sigh as Diana drew her speech to a close. Once she’d made to sit down, Bruce bolted to his feet, as if he had sat on a tack, or been stung by a hornet, and left the room before anyone could say something to him. Clark sighed, and muttered, “Excuse me” to the rest of the founding league members and went to chase after his friend. 

**…**

“Hey! Batman!” Clark called, finally catching up to him in the hallway just before the entrance to the main monitor womb, where the teleporters were. Bruce stopped and tensed, but didn’t turn around. Clark took a few quick strides and caught up to his side. 

Bruce quickly turned toward him, eyes hesitantly flickering to Clark’s face before he scowled and asked reluctantly, “What do you want, Superman?” 

Clark opened his mouth: “You seem…” _tense, upset, distracted, stressed_ “busy. Is something going on in Gotham?” 

Bruce growled and shot an accusatory look at Clark. Clark raised an eyebrow. Bruce turned to leave. “People have been talking, Batman,” he blurted. While this wasn’t _strictly true_ , he had overheard one or two conversations about how it might be best to avoid Batman for the time being, as he seemed to be set on some kind of path of vengeance. Against who or what, it wasn’t clear. But it seemed advisable to most league-members to stay out of his way. Bruce stopped. Turned around. 

“What is it you want to tell me?” he said stiffly. 

Clark sighed. “Just talk to me, B,” he said softly. Bruce gave him a hard, considering stare before he seemed to acquiesce. 

“Fine,” he sighed, posture relaxing somewhat. “Lead the way, Kal.” 

**…**

After making a quick detour to the cafeteria for two fresh, steaming-hot cups of coffee, Bruce and Clark entered an empty conference room. Clark shut the door after them and locked it. He spun around and saw that Bruce was already seated at the table, cowl off. Clark suppressed his surprise at how faded Bruce seemed— as if he was a charcoal drawing that had been left in a backpack for a week or so. He took a sip of coffee. Clark walked over and sat two chairs away, on the same side of the table as Bruce. He also took a sip of his coffee. It was quiet, but at least, it didn’t seem to be tensely quiet, this time. Bruce sighed. Clark took that as his cue. 

“What’s wrong, Bruce?” he asked in low tones. 

Bruce set down his cup of coffee with a clink and rubbed at his face. 

“Everything,” he groaned. Clark frowned sharply, and was about to interject, but Bruce surprised him again by continuing, “and nothing. There’s not anything really _wrong_ , Clark. Just a bunch of little things not working out. Dick was fighting with me earlier, Tim and Damian were also fighting _again_ , Damian snuck out to patrol when I _told him_ not to because he had a cold, my secretary is moving to Metropolis, there might be a new serial killer in Gotham, some idiot watched porn on the Watchtower and I had to clean out all the computer servers, Luthor is making a bid— a _competitive_ one— against W.E., I had to go to a retirement party for someone who worked with my father, and none of them thought I was good enough, Jason got shot, Dick and Barbra had a fight, I was too harsh with Wally after he was late to monitor duty, Leslie is mad at me because I hurt my knee on patrol, the Joker destroyed the batmobile’s suspension, and I came to the league meeting with fucking grease _on my face_ —” Bruce cut off abruptly with a huff and glowered at his coffee cup. Clark blinked, unsure if he’d _ever_ heard Bruce speak this much at one moment before, even when he thought Clark had done something idiotic. He wasn’t quite sure what to say at first. 

Bruce looked sullenly up at him. Clark sighed. “Sounds like you’ve had a shit month,” he said sympathetically. Bruce chuckled, but it was more of a groan. 

“Yeah. I guess,” he murmured, staring into his coffee cup. Silence crashed over them, and Bruce’s brow furrowed as he continued to stare distractedly into his coffee cup. Clark’s heart twanged. _He really did look frazzled_ , Clark thought. And to say that about Batman— Bruce— meant a lot. Clark got an idea. It would take careful execution, but it just might work. He slowly scooted his chair closer to Bruce’s. He didn’t look up until Clark was almost touching him. Clark leaned forward and adjusted Bruce’s chair, so it was parallel with his own. Bruce still didn’t say anything until Clark had pulled him forward gently and wrapped his arms around Bruce. 

“What are you doing?” Bruce queried despondently, with a hint of curiosity, or annoyance. Probably annoyance. It came out a bit muffled because his face was kind of pressed into Clark’s shoulder. 

“I’m giving you a hug,” Clark said simply. 

He felt Bruce blink against him. And he felt an echo as Bruce rumbled, “Hm.” 

…

They remained like that for a few minutes more (maybe even fifteen?) before Bruce made a small noise and Clark loosened his hold on him. Bruce pulled away, and blinked. Clark tried not to laugh at the t-shirt lines on his face. He watched his friend as he stood up silently and collected both coffee cups. His face was expressionless, but his energy seemed… calmer, contented. Less upset. _Good_ , Clark thought, relieved. He’d had no backup plan to make Bruce feel better, so he was glad this had worked. 

Bruce paused, eyes flicked back to Clark. “Thank you,” he said sedately. He awkwardly flipped up the cowl with one hand and walked out. Clark sat there a moment longer, lingering in the contented, peaceful atmosphere before he stood and also left the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Here are two versions of Batman (Kevin Conroy) singing _Am I Blue?_
> 
> 1\. This is [just the singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fuHwYMTxmR0).
> 
> 2\. This one is [the actual scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncj-wpBhr5E).
> 
> If you haven't seen this yet, I highly recommend giving it a watch!


End file.
